


how to gain a brother

by soaringswallow



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Cassian gets adopted and is confused about it, Kid Fic, cute little baby bats, short and sweet, the beginning of a beautiful friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 16:28:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19794667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soaringswallow/pseuds/soaringswallow
Summary: Cassian beat up the new kid at camp. That High Lord brat with his fancy clothes and his magic.When Rhysand comes to find him late that night, Cassian expects a round two. Instead, he gets something he never dared wish for.





	how to gain a brother

**Author's Note:**

> sup  
> i wrote this late at night without pauses and it's real short but also i love them??? so much???  
> there should be more fics about the baby Illyrians

“Get up.”  
“What?” Cassian blinks the sleep out of his eyes and yawns. He knows he should be more alert, since apparently it’s now this easy to sneak up on him when he’s asleep, but it’s been a long day. He’s tired and sore.  
And now that little High Lord prat is standing over him, hands at his hips, an eyebrow raised in perfect high-fae fashion.

“I said ‘get up’,” he repeats, and has the audacity to tug at the thin blanket Cassian has covered himself with.

“You want another ass kicking? Didn’t think you were that stupid.” He sits up and reaches behind himself for the dagger he keeps close.

Rhysand rolls his eyes. Well, eye. The other is swollen and bruised, as Cassian smugly notes.  
“Give me a week and I’ll wipe the floor with you,” he tells him confidently, and Cassian snorts.

“You ain’t shit without that fancy magic of yours.” But really, Rhysand had held his own in the ring better than Cassian would have expected on his first day. Clearly there is some talent there.  
He’s just soft and spoiled, having his mother here to kiss his booboos and cook him dinner.  
Cassian can’t even imagine what it’s like in the palace of the High Lord. There must be servants everywhere, reading every wish off the little prat’s lips. No wonder a proper Illyrian female wouldn’t want her son to be exposed to that all his life.

Rhysand cocks his head to the side. “I know I got in a few good hits. You were favoring your right leg after our fight.”

“How can you even see out of that eye?” Cassian shoots back. He finally sits up and crosses his arms, wings folded tightly and protectively against his back.

Rhysand’s wing tips are dragging against the ground. It almost hurts looking at them. Cassian wonders if his ability to make them vanish whenever he fancies also means he doesn’t usually wear them openly. His High Lord father probably doesn’t approve of them. That thought almost makes Cassian grin.

Rhysand sighs impatiently. “Are you going to make me repeat myself?”

Cassian arches a brow, trying to imitate his cool expression.   
“Are you going to make me repeat myself?” he repeats in a mocking tone, “Fuck off, Rhys. You’re not my High Lord yet.”

Rhysand seems startled for a moment, then collects himself. “No, but I’m not leaving you alone to sleep either. So you might as well follow me. It’s freezing out here.”

Cassian doesn’t really have an argument for that. He’ll get in trouble if he beats up the annoying twit outside the fighting pits anyway.  
So he shoves his measly belongings into his bag - he never lets them out of sight, and crawls out of the shelter he built himself.

Rhysand doesn’t say a word as he leads Cassian through the woods, which he is grateful for. It gives him time to finally shake off the weariness and be alert once more.

When they enter the cabin, Cassian is surprised to see Rhysand’s mother waiting for them.   
She’s an impressive female, wings proud and partially spread in the small space.   
He’s never seen a female with proud wings before.

“Why did I know this was where you’d run off to?” she asks, half fond and half exasperated, and it’s a tone Cassian is entirely unfamiliar with.

Rhysand shrugs. “It’s cold out there. He’s the only decent opponent I’ve got, I don’t want him to freeze before I get my chance at beating him.”

That gets him another eyeroll, and Cassian feels weird being here. This is something private and sweet, and he doesn’t belong here at all.  
His uncomfortable fidgeting finally draws attention.

“Cassian.”

He flinches at the sound of his name. It rarely comes in connection with anything good.

But Rhysand’s mother merely points towards the stairs. “There’s a bath ready for you, and a second bed in Rhysand’s room. Go on.”  
Her tone leaves no room for an argument, but Cassian is absolutely baffled. He stares for a few moments, unmoving, and the fierce female in front of him sighs.  
“Well, I’m not standing around all night. Get on with it.” And she turns on her heel and leaves the room.

A little desperate, Cassian turns to look at Rhysand, only to find the other boy already halfway up the stairs.  
Resigned, Cassian follows.

*****

The bath is luckily in a separate room and he gets a few minutes of privacy. He’s never been in a home before, he realizes. There’s not usually a reason for him to go inside, except for the little store where he sometimes goes to trade his trophies from fights for food.  
And he’s certainly never had a hot bath before.  
The moment he sinks into the water, he decides that this is not something he’s giving up again.

He stays there until the water is barely lukewarm anymore, then gets dressed in soft linen clothes that mysteriously appeared in front of the door.  
This all still feels like a strange dream. He doesn’t know what to make of it.

He finds Rhysand’s room easily enough, since it’s the only other room up here, and he notices that there’s barely any space between the two beds.  
Maybe this isn’t as great as he thought.

“Good. You finally don’t smell like a wet donkey anymore.” Rhysand puts away the book he’s been reading and smirks at him.

Cassian unceremoniously stomps across the room and drops onto the bed and - great Mother above, is it meant to be this soft?  
The blanket is made from slightly scratchy but warm wool, and the pillow seems to be filled with real feathers. Cassian marvels at it for a moment, then turns when he feels Rhysand’s gaze on him.   
He looks thoughtful. Cassian doesn’t like it.

“Has no one taught you that staring is impolite, Rhys?” he asks, giving him his best death glare.

The High Lord prat doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. He simply shrugs and blows out the candle.  
The room is enveloped in darkness, and Cassian stares up at the ceiling - how strange not to see the stars - and he feels warm and safe. Protected.

“No one’s ever called me that before,” Rhysand whispers in the dark.

“What, stupid?” Cassian shoots back, though he’s a little too tired to put any real bite into it.

“No, you ass. Rhys.” There’s a little pause. “I don’t like it.”

Cassian smirks. “Good.” 

That seals it, the name is going to stick.


End file.
